


Anathema of the Sick

by pureleaf



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Sebastian Michaelis, Erotic Poetry, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gore, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, I'm not sorry, Light Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Teenage Ciel Phantomhive, Tentacles, autumn sebaciel week, ciel is food, not your average sick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureleaf/pseuds/pureleaf
Summary: Autumn arrives with a chill. The season brings gloomy days, heavy rain, and illness. When the bratty Young Master succumbs to fever, Sebastian is overcome with temptation. The Devil is starving; a taste wouldn’t hurt…





	Anathema of the Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Not your average sick fic. I wrote this while I was dying from a fever in my bed, so the inspiration was ridiculous lol. Stuffy noses and sinus headaches are not my cup of tea, and clearly they aren’t Ciel’s.

The thing about hunger is the hold it has on one’s psyche. Those who fall prey to their greed are often left insatiable. Like newborn infants eager for milk, they long for the salvation of opening the mouth wide to be filled. When humans eat, it is not only to satisfy a basic need, but also an expression of desire. For Sebastian, the famishment compelled his ancient mind to run gently out of his horned head to leave him with a vacuum. His destiny became destruction, his God was his stomach, and his glory was in his shame. 

Dining with a young tyrant, noting what is before him, he would fasten a rosary around his throat before giving in to gluttony. _Do not crave his delicacies, for that food is deceptive._ _If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world is Mine, and all it contains._ Like a forlorn bee searching for propolis on a pine, Sebastian was voracious. A sated man loathes honey, but to a covetous demon, any bitter thing is sweet. 

Ciel Phantomhive, seventeen years old, an absolute mogul standing at a mere sixty-eight inches. With every birthday came rancor, and the burdens of appetite aching with every breath pulsated through his demon. The heir was always so hard to please, utterly spoiled rotten, yet savory nonetheless. With each passing year, the little imp grew into a holy terror; ordering Sebastian around like a dog, mundane tasks that would urge sighs from him if he bothered to breathe. Ciel was ruthless and purposefully sloven, erupting chaos with every tread. If he wasn’t bound by contract, he would grab him by his slate gray hair and force him under the bathwater until there were no more bubbles. 

But the young Phanotmhive was a manifestation of Eros; exhuming diaphoresis and sex. Milky skin that spreads and spans, completely vulgarian. He would cross and uncross his legs on long carriage rides, unbutton his collar, spread his thighs and hang his head back, adam’s apple bobbing languidly. His hands would trace patterns in his lap, quiet but prominent mewls releasing into the small space, and the windows would sometimes fog from his breath. 

The summer after the earl’s fifteenth birthday was when Sebastian began to notice a change. His enthusiasm to visit with his fiance diminished and the demon cannot say he complained much about it. When Ciel experienced his first erotic dream, he woke up in a panic; tearing the sheets from the mattress and wadding them up to be thrown on the floor. The young master would not allow his demon to touch him for months after that incident, and Sebastian knew why, Sebastian could feel everything his little lord felt, and he was ravenous for his arousal. 

Would he be indigestible? Could he go down easy? How sickly sweet was the nectar the demon had tried so hard to taste? Was he mere provender, waiting to be shucked and boiled? Sebastian thought not. On the outside, the heir displayed denatonium, but deep within he was thaumatin. 

He wanted to destroy that brat. Could hear his weak, panting sighs in the dead of night, stubby fingers squeezing around his pathetic, little cock. His ears would twitch at the sound of a small finger searching for that special spot, could practically see the blush on his chubby cheeks, teeth biting into the back of his hand to muffle his cries. _ What a selfish master. Starving his loyal servant. _A Devil’s tongue has low standards during famine, but Ciel was ambrosia. 

* * *

If the gray in the sky could have swallowed them whole, Sebastian would have allowed it. That stubborn earl, always so pompous and asinine; always insisting to do more work than necessary, commanding his demon to serve bothersome errands, and feigning like an outraged God. The extent of instances where boiling tea and sticky desserts wound up atop of his raven-clad head was enough to overflow the Serpentine.

“If we leave now, we can beat that pompous bastard to the town,” Ciel’s gaze was at his wrists, fastening cuffs and securing the sapphire ring outside the blue gloves enclosing his bony knuckles. “Where’s Finny? Tell him to round the horses,” the earl covered his mouth with his coat, muffling his horrid cough that came with colder weather. Sebastian stood still, staring at his master blankly until the little lord looked up. “Are you deaf? Or do I have to search for my servants m-” the bridge of his nose wrinkled, his eyes squeezed shut as he sneezed into the crook of his elbow, which followed with violent wheezing. Sebastian, worried about his meal, hurried over behind him and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. The boy was falling more ill by the hour, his coughing fit enough to alert the entire manor to rush to his aid. 

“My lord-” 

“Don’t touch me!” Ciel threw his arm back to push the butler away, relying heavily on the cane in his left hand so he wouldn’t stumble. Finnian, Bard, and Mey-Rin arrived, running to their poor master with perturbed expressions. 

“Your lordship! Are you well?” asked Finny, treading lightly toward a panting Ciel. His forehead was already slick with sweat, skin paling and dull. 

“Young Master, the weather appears to be rather bleak. The temperature has dropped significantly, and the rain will begin soon. Perhaps we should perform these tasks another day.” 

“Did I ask for your opinion on the damned weather? I would rather get this done and over with than wait another day.” 

“But my lord, I can sense that your health is declining. I must insist-” 

“No, you will not _ insist _ on anything. I order _ you, _ not the contra.” _ Suit yourself, master. _

On their way to East End, the sky tore apart.

* * *

Lord Arthur Randall, Commissioner of Scotland Yard, beat them to the scene with his men. They crowded in the street in front of dilapidated buildings and dark alleyways. The stench of dirty sidewalks and overflowing garbage could have stung even the strongest of noses. The ashy sky synthesized the town, subtle flashes of a broken street lamp illuminated the rainfall. Smog -- no sunlight, no birds, no aristocracy other than themselves in sight. There was misery soaked into the cracks of the cement, in the back alleys, and etched in every gaunt and dejected face. Some still clung to their holy bibles as their last prayer for salvation; not in that life, but afterward, when they rot from cholera. 

"What can we do for you, Lord Phantomhive?" a few of his lordship’s buffoons blocked Ciel’s path with crossed arms, Sebastian’s carmine eyes brazenly shooting daggers, but remained silent.

“Pray tell, I was summoned by Queen Victoria. I do not need your assistance. Now get out of my way.” Ciel pushed past and stalked over to the scene of the crime. Sebastian could smell death, rotten stardust burning into the air. Humans were nothing but slaughter, and Ciel was only a tart course on a silver plate. 

“Lord Randall. I do not appreciate your men undermining me.” the heir made his way to Randall, clothes, hair, and eyepatch soaked from the rain. Sebastian followed quickly behind, umbrella in hand for the wet mutt. 

“Lord Phantomhive, you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Was I not asked _ specifically _ to be _ here _, of all places, to serve under the Queen and extract your detectives from this rancid city?” the older man glared at the one-eyed boy with furrowed brows.

“This is a beastly murder. You ought to not witness this,” Randall squinted his wrinkled eyes. “Go home.” Ciel was fuming. 

“Commissioner. I am not--” another coughing fit interrupted his transgression. The young master clutched at his chest like he was trying to rip it open, lips the color of forget-me-nots. Both Lord and Butler worried about the choking earl, both concerned for different reasons, of course.

“My lord, you are unwell. We should leave before you become worse. We are not needed here,” the butler reached for Ciel’s arm, when it was harshly slapped away. 

“Enough! I am not a child, do not presume to treat me as such.” he trotted his way over to the corpse, carefully stepping around the ocean of crimson flowing toward a grate. The steady downpour had all but washed away any footprints the killer may have left behind. A ghastly body and a putrid miasma of rotting flesh and rust enveloped his nostrils. Without eyelids, the milky orbs stared into the onslaught of rain while a lipless mouth hung open. It was humorous in the way that a sharp knife would be after it has been extracted from another’s chest; in the way apples drop from trees and are stepped on or ran over, and they just reek and reek until the season dies. _ How beautiful, _Sebastian thought. A throat continuously swallowed and clenched, and Ciel collapsed to his knees, warm bile rising from his gut as he retched. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled, his lungs having no choice but to painfully and rigidly take in the chilled air around him. He felt his body tremble and heave. Everything went black for Ciel Phantomhive, his innards replaced by a black hole, and his head wrapped in misty plastic. 

* * *

How could he covet Ciel? How could he make him so scarce that the world would not have enough of him to go around? 

He had ordered the butler once to remain in his small room, not coming out until he said so, like an urchin. Sebastian seethed for hours, then days, which turned into weeks of silent, unapologetically monotonous torture. He wanted to grab his cheekbones until they shattered. The bloodlust soothed his curdled veins, barbed wire in the memories of darling, Ciel. There were land mines hidden in his ribcage, rage bursting in the cracks between the bones._ Master _ was a white-hot supernova, a congregation who sang a siren’s song, and he was going to be ruined. _ I will be your undoing. _

The townhouse was a desolate cavity of cold swirling colored dust and creaking floors. Effortless were the beast’s proceedings; he delivered the unconscious boy to the arenaceous bedding, headboard cracked and splintering, but it wouldn’t matter, nothing would matter to the shadowy veil that was Sebastian. An infernal figure with a concave mouth brimming with jagged canines grinned at the lamb that laid before him on the deceitful alter. Plenteous eyes blistered amethyst hues in the dim of the aphotic space. Tendrils lurked in every cavity of the room, an atrium of misty Elysian siphoning the twilight into the young master. Consuming puny holes into the fabric of the night became tiresome for the demon, for he wanted to be stuffed and saturated with carnage. What he bound by the wrists was the diaphanous reflection of luster, astral and elemental like he was born of aureola. Sebastian had Ciel enclosed and rid of his attire, flesh sickly warm and radiating a tranquil intoxication. He licked his vicious lips, rewarded with the discovery of alluring, blossom lace panties squeezing his bottom. 

That vexing harlot, who did he think he was? He had enough of his master’s plaguing. How dare he hide? His sticky skin was coated in orange citrus, urging to dip into the soft flesh, mouth dripping and teeth skimming and tongue lapping at the excess. Just pure _ greedy, greedy, greedy. _With talons extracted, it was simple to tear the lace of the lord’s skimpy drawers, but the rip stirred the imp from his slumber. He jolted awake, barren of all cloth, contract mark beaming in the cimmerian. Sebastian rashly forced the ruined lace panties into Ciel’s mouth and pushed it down his throat. The boy gagged and knocked his elbows together, unable to move his hands pressed against the wood, tugging and wiggling to no avail. He tried to curse at the butler, thrashing his weak legs to the heavens as his wrists were unwavering. The demon’s laugh resounded throughout the chamber, lept off the walls and fluttered in his eardrums. He kicked and screamed incoherent orders and pleas to the unrighteous being above him casting shadows from the floors to the ceiling. The room did not feel holy nor did it resemble hell, rather, the earl’s soul was trapped in purgatory, well seasoned and ripe for the beast’s liking.

_ Do you know how long… _

Ciel would be taken and molted until he turned inside out.

_ Did you really think… _

His teeth could crack from how hard he clenched his jaw, snot and salty tears ran to the corners of his stuffed mouth.

_ Foolish mortal… _

It happened without warning. The demon sheathed his ungodly form into the fallen grace. 

_ Go ahead and scream. _

That poor, wretched thing. The inflation of his chest rose and sank with each wail, through every thrust and searing burn of the stretch. A lithe back lifted off the tattered quilt, like a rotted offering all pallid and vacant of countenance. It was a compelling sight to the immortal; watching him inhale his death was tantalizing. He could turn the sapphire orbs into a string of perfect pearls with how wide they opened. 

That butler felt monstrous inside of him, fingers flexing, shoulders tense, but nothing in between would move no matter how hard he strained. Wrist to shoulder, paralyzed. Hissing sounds and grunts were like a melody, that behemoth cock and balls deep inside that quivering body. Bruising hips and gray hair around soot fingers tugged as he baptized between the lord’s thighs. He rutted into the dreams of flesh slick with melted nightmares. He looked better unraveled. 

Ciel was shaking whispers; an open chest kissing his tears with bittersweetness while waiting for salvation unwilling given. His body broke at each touch and remolded in Sebastian’s image, bending like the broken spine of a book.

Ciel screamed, choking on the damp lace finally slipping out of his mouth. The demon’s cock struck the place inside that made him feel terribly warm and shivery, clutching pathetically at the bedposts as the whole frame rocked and smacked against the wall. He wondered if it was possible to blister on the inside, a barrage of violent bucking and gripping an unwilling throat. 

“Yo-you b-bastard. I order you,” sharp nails squeezed his esophagus as he pressed his face into the pillow. 

“Apologies, my lord,” his voice rumbled cruelly as he pushed against his cheek with obsidian, glutinous limbs. “I am unable to hear you. Did you say ‘_ harder’?” _

“Nngm ‘Bastian, I sswear to--” 

“God? Don’t make me laugh. It’s just you and me, little one.” 

The petite sovereign couldn’t help but thrust his bare ass upward. He didn’t want to succumb to the Devil’s appetite, but he was pouring honey in his ears, purring and promising and preparing his feast. He wanted to eat away at his body, blood and bone erased. A darkness ate his heart, blind from gouged eyes, and lungs that once inhaled kind oxygen became a gas oven. It was a specter of desire that bellowed in the gut and beckoned to be filled. He was stretching, curving, bending, and straining until everything and anything was poured into him. Fingers dug around a mouth, speaking softly over everything the Devil could swallow. Fingers sunk inside the sand of his skull, sifting through the gravel like it was something worthy and not a wreckage. There was a gnawing ache, a beast lurking beneath the surface with claws hooked into the lining of skin made from atoms and matter. He was skulking into the tender flesh, seeking to be sated with teeth chewing marrow, spleen and ribs, hearth and death. Bruised inside out, fading to yellow on grapefruit skin and stinging. His frail body looked like a startled moon, enough for him to fall and splinter. He was austere, eyes turned dark. He was tenebrous, comforting the night and its slow, imminent death.  
  
Sebastian did not know why he enjoyed picking meat off the bone with his teeth while it was still raw and bleeding, emanating warmth from carcass. He did not know why he wanted to cut into Ciel’s mouth from corner to ear. He leaned into his lips, imagined cradling the creature’s skull to sharpen his teeth on a toothless grin. _ Just one bite. _

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos n comments make me uwuwuwuw


End file.
